#they should have kissed in Dean’s room when cas tried to return the mix tape | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seenashwrite · 5 years

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12 Days

Status: Complete Word Count: 4.7K Category: One-shot; Humor; Holidays; Christmas; Behind-the-scenes canon-compliant; Fluffersnark Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Cas, You, special guest stars Warnings: None Author’s Note(s): Merry Christmas ya filthy animals; let’s use some tropes for good not evil; don’t sweat the word count, a good chunk of it is listing things (you’ll see); more post-story Overall Summary: It’s twelve days until Christmas, business is slow, but boredom has been chased away by the arrival of some very special gifts for two very deserving hunters.

It started on the thirteenth, which - as all supernaturally-inclined people know - is a harbinger of doom. But Dean didn't see it that way, at least, not at first. Neither his hackles nor his suspicions were raised, and why would they be?

Sam pointed out that they should be, given the lack of postage or a “from” on the fancy tag attached to the fancy box with the fancy bow.

Here was the thing, though: pie.

The smell was heavenly; well, as heaven ought to smell, as far as Dean was concerned. And it should taste of whiskey. And it should sound of classic rock and classic engines. And it should feel of broken-in leather seats - hell, even just broken-in flannel. Anyone who knew Dean would presume such, and they would be correct.

And there, now, atop a library table, was a little piece of heaven. The tag had a "1" drawn on it in ornate calligraphy, a TO DEAN just under, and when opened, a charming drawing of the best of desserts, more fanciful handwriting proclaiming: A Fresh Homemade Apple Pie.

"Whoa," said Dean.

"Hmmm," said Sam.

It was beautiful, it was exquisite, it was delicious, and Dean ate it straight from the box, demolished it, nothing but crumbs in just under an hour.

"You don't think this is a bit weird?" Sam asked, watching as his brother leaned back with a contented sigh.

Dean brought his eyes to Sam's, then rolled them. "Our life is weird. Anyway, I know exactly who this is from - it's about trying to make up for that fight we had last week."

"Hmmm," said Sam.

Again.

The next day, there were two boxes - the first was identical to the the prior day's, from packaging to content. The second was wrapped in kind, only bigger, the tag sporting "2", and featuring a tiny inking of brightly-colored shirts, though this time the tag read TO DEAN & SAM. Inside were plaid flannel button-downs, one for each of them, perfectly sized, in exactly the colors they would have chosen.

Dean was pleased, goaded Sam into trying his on; he begrudgingly admitted it was nice. But he had a question, so he asked it.

"I don’t get it - why? I mean, including me, if this is about your fight?"

Dean shrugged. "Got me. Who cares? I'm up for getting my ass kissed six ways to Sunday - if she wants to run The Twelve Days of Christmas gambit, she can knock herself out."

"Technically, the twelve days should start after----"

Dean interrupted as he picked up the box with the pie. "Before, after - I can handle twelve days of this whenever. So? You in this time?"

Outside the bunker door on this day were three boxes: first, pie; the next, shirts; and the newest elicited a gasp from its recipient. TO DEAN, read the tag, Three Rocking Tapes. And there, just as the little drawing had shown, were three mix tapes full of his favorite songs, and his favorite songs only, no filler, no B-sides. He would soon find that one of the tapes was strictly live recordings, and the tunes were as crisp as if time had been rolled back briefly so as to capture the melodies in HD, sounding as if he were right there in the front row.

Dean put on his new flannel, stuffed his pants pockets with the tapes, snatched up the pie, and scurried to his room without another word. Or a fork. Or a napkin.

Sam sighed, and then he put away the shirts.

Brought into the library were four packages - one pie, two shirts, three tapes, and now a box which held tiny bottles of top-shelf liquor. Four Shots Of Whiskey declared the tag, and Sam would swear that Dean erupted in what one could’ve interpreted as a squeal. A very manly one, naturally.

It tasted wonderful, according to Dean, and he thought to offer Sam the fourth after pounding the first three. Sam tried it, happened to agree, and he drank his shot as Dean hacked into the latest pie.

An odd look crossed his face.

“What?” asked Sam.

Dean shook himself out of it. “Nothing. She tweaked the recipe, I guess.”

Sam nodded, set his empty bottle with the rest, but before he began to gather the shirts, he asked another question:

“Didn’t she always say she hated to cook?”

Dean was singing under his breath as he tied his robe a little tighter, then opened the door. “It’s the most wonderful time of the---- Whoa!”

He’d yelled so loudly that Sam came rushing out of the kitchen and up the stairs. “What is it? What’s wr---- Wow.”

The morning had brought with it one pie, two shirts, three tapes, four whiskeys, and there, on a very large, very heavy box, a tag reading TO SAM.

As he flipped the tag open, he said, “I think she’s doing it wrong, I don’t think each gift is supposed to be repeated every----” Sam cut himself off with a massive intake of air once he saw it:

FIVE BOOKS OF LORE!

They were old, slightly yellowed, smelled ancient, and Dean wrinkled his nose, but Sam inhaled deeply, and his eyes sparkled as he laid each of the books out on the table almost reverently.

“These…. are…. AMAZING.” He looked to Dean, excited. “They’re really rare, I’ve been looking for a couple of these for forever!” A pause. “Something wrong with the shirts?”

Dean had opened the package, and was staring into it with a perplexed expression; he held up a sleeve for Sam to see.

“This look pink to you?”

A hunt had taken the duo away from the bunker overnight, and on the front steps the evening of the sixth day, waiting for them to return, were: one pie, two shirts, three tapes, four whiskeys, five books, and six bags of salt.

“That woulda been useful last night,” Dean muttered.

“It was a big body,” Sam commented.

“He was a whale!” Dean snapped.

Sam frowned. “Why don’t you eat some pie and calm down.”

Dean grumbled something unintelligible.

“Huh?” Sam asked.

Dean didn’t answer, but did continue to grumble as they brought the salt bags - and the rest - inside.

“Will you please just tell me what’s wrong?” Sam tried again.

Dean sighed, and said, “Yesterday’s pie was… off.”

“Define ‘off’,” said Sam.

“It was really… I dunno, sour, or something.”

“Maybe it was a different kind of apple.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, now you’ll be used to it, if it’s in today’s.”

“You assume I’m gonna try today’s.”

Sam gave Dean a look.

Dean returned it in kind - then he shrugged, picked up the pie, turned to go to his room, thought better of it, turned around, and grabbed the whiskey, too.

A suspect stomach prevented Dean from seeing the newest batch of presents until Sam had brought most of it down into the war room, the flush of a toilet echoing down the hallway heralding his arrival, and he stood by the stairs, watching as the job was completed.

“Nice of you to join the party,” Sam said with a grunt, depositing the last box onto the map table.

Dean studied his sweaty brother. “Why’re you so-----”

“Because, look,” Sam said, pointing.

The bags of salt had increased in size, tripling, in fact, from the few modest pounds the day prior; even for Sam, it was quite the haul. That made: six bags of salt, five books of lore, four whiskey shots, three rocking tapes, two flannel shirts, and a fresh homemade apple pie.

“Fresh, my ass!” Dean practically screamed at the package. But then his attention went to the newest arrival. “You or me?” he asked.

“You do it,” Sam replied, flopping into a chair, hair flopping out of his eyes as he did so.

Dean looked at the tag and grinned. “Ah-ha. Lucky you. Hopefully this time it’s something we can both----” Scanning further, he cut himself off, raised his eyebrows. “Welp. At least there’s the whiskey.” He gestured to the box as he took his own seat. “All yours.”

TO SAM ~ Seven Healthy Smoothies

As Sam removed the ornate wrapping and began to open the box, he jostled it, and his eyes met Dean’s briefly at the sound of clinking glass. He began removing the smoothies and setting them in a line. All seven were cool to the touch, all in crystal goblets, all piled high and with a dusting of peppermint flakes on top, all ready-to-drink due to the thoughtfully-included straws.

And all were an interesting shade of slightly neon green.

“It’s… festive,” Sam finally said, after several beats of silence.

“So? You gonna try it?” Dean asked, caution in his voice, a hand reflexively coming up to rub his belly.

“I dunno - you really think the pie made you sick? The pie itself - not the fact that you’ve been killing off a whole one every day for a week now?” Sam asked pointedly.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Then try it.”

“All right,” Sam replied, and picked one up, brought it to his nose for a sniff and, apparently satisfied that it wasn’t toxic in that regard, took a tiny sip. He grinned. He sipped more. He grinned more. And then he removed the straw and began to gulp it down. When he lowered the glass and his line of sight was clear, he found Dean eyeing him.

“Really?” Dean asked.

“It’s great!” Sam exclaimed, picking up another. “I gotta ask her for the recipe! Hey, have you talked to her at all? To say you’re sorry?”

“I’m not sorry,” Dean replied, smug, and stood - pausing briefly as his gut let out a horrific moan - then took the box with the tapes and retreated to his room.

Sam huffed, and shouted after him. “You’re not gonna help me with all this salt?!”

“You need to call her.”

Dean and Sam were standing near a bookshelf, watching the box, both jumping in sync, startled when the shaking started up again.

“No.”

“Then go open it.”

“You open it.”

“Yesterday’s was for me, this one is probably----”

“It may be for both of us----”

“I can see your name on the tag from here!”

Rock, paper, scissors ensued.

Dean lost.

He flicked open his pocket knife as he walked to the table. The box suddenly went still when he gingerly raised the tag with the tip of the knife. “I can’t read what it says,” he told Sam.

“You could if you actually opened it!” Sam replied, growing annoyed.

“Fine, I’ll open it!” Dean declared, and used the knife to draw a large slit through the paper, enough to where he could get the flaps of the box open.

“I meant the tag--- oh, never mind,” said Sam.

Dean stood there staring down into box for so long that Sam finally walked over - and he found himself staring, as well, once he came to a stop by Dean.

The contents of the box were glowing.

Along with the seven healthy smoothies, six bags of salt, five books of lore, four whiskey shots, three rocking tapes, two flannel shirts, and a fresh homemade apple pie, it appeared the Winchesters were now the owners of eight canning jars, based upon the two rows of four metal caps, jars with minuscule holes pierced into the lids, jars whose contents pulsed gently with a warm amber light.

Rock, paper, scissors ensued.

Sam lost.

Dean backed away.

Sam reached in, removed a jar, snickered, then turned to show Dean that there, trapped inside the glass, was a fast-chirping, hard-glowing, wings-vibrating, bird-shooting, larger-than-usual-size, very pissed-off little lady.

Dean’s eyes grew wide. “But why?” he whispered.

Sam read the tag aloud. “TO DEAN - Eight Angry Fairies.” Then he burst into laughter.

“Sure, real funny!” Dean said with a sneer. “This is a total bitch move, even for her!”

Sam laughed harder. “We only have one microwave - you gonna go for the oven this time? What do you think, about three-fifty for a half-hour should do it, huh?” He set down the jar, still chuckling as he moved to the box containing his smoothies, took one out.

“You still have some in the fridge!” said Dean, coming back to the table, but hesitating briefly when the fairy threw herself against the inside of the jar, rocking it and causing a puff of sugarplum-scented glitter to waft into the air. He quickly picked it up by the lid - using his fingertips only - and deposited her back with her friends, closing the flaps for good measure.

Sam continued unpacking, said, “I know, but I wanted to see if she’d done anything new to these.” He took a sip, closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up as it slipped down his throat.

“And?”

“They still taste great. Better, even. How’s the pie been?”

“Didn’t finish yesterday’s, it was mushy.”

“Mushy?”

“Yeah, mushy!” Dean exclaimed. “Why do you care?”

“Jeez, Dean! I’m just making conversation!”

“And the tapes suck, too, before you ask!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The first day they were great, and the second day, and then all of a sudden hair band rock started sneaking in----”

“You like----”

“NO, not ALL of it, and then there was grunge----”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh, and you know what was on the last one? Right in the middle of ‘Black Betty’? Friggin’ Bieber!”

Sam went back to laughing. “This is too good, you get what she’s doing, right? She’s telling you she’s not sorry, either!”

Dean began to sulk, and Sam went back to drinking the smoothie, both still doing so when Castiel came into the room.

After a brief frown at the pile of salt bags - once more having increased in poundage since the last batch - he asked about all the packages. They explained. The frown returned.

“So you haven’t been helping her in any way, at all?” Dean asked.

“No,” replied Castiel, picking up a fairy jar and studying it. “I wager someone is, however, based upon the books Sam is receiving, and based upon these specimens - they’re quite reclusive and quite aggressive, that she managed to locate eight is… impressive.” He returned the jar to the box and turned to Sam. “Have the books continued to be rare tomes?”

Sam swallowed the most recent mouthful of his lime-hued treat, and answered, “In a way - they’ve all been different, and nothing we already have, but…. it’s just….”

Dean and Castiel raised their eyebrows, prompting him.

“Well, a few have been about cryptids, some about urban legend type stuff, things that she knows aren’t true. Maybe it’s some filler, since she’s having to come up with so many of them, or something.”

“And today’s?” asked Castiel.

“Open it up and see, if you want,” answered Sam, and Castiel did so.

“These are hardback copies of first-edition Chuck Shurley stories,” he said.

Sam just barely managed to avoid a spit-take. “This is great!” he choked out.

“Laugh it up, ass,” Dean shot back, and tore into the box with the shirts. He groaned. He yanked them out, threw them on the table, greeted with more of the same ol’, same ol’. Sort-of. Their sizes, yes; flannel, yes; pleasant-colored-plaid, no. They were patterned in pastel flowers.

A thought striking, he ran to his room, came back with a boombox, tested out the tapes. They were indeed classic rock. The elevator music version. Dean was fuming. The box of whiskey still held liquor, and it was still whiskey, though just a taste told him it was no longer top-shelf; not swill, but definitely well.

And then there was the pie.

Once the seal was broken, the smell was an assault, something sharp and pungent, all three men muttering “ugh” and “oof” and “ew”, and when Dean set it on the table, it made a belching sound, the slightly burnt crust sinking down, a thick grey ooze seeping out and over the edge of the dish.

“Man, she’s really nailing you, Dean!” Sam cried, laughing so hard this time that tears came to his eyes, and he had to sit down, Dean’s glare doing nothing to stop him, and when he settled, he was finishing off the last of his drink when Castiel directed a question his way.

“Why are you consuming pureed elf?”

“This doesn’t make sense,” said Sam.

He held up one of the shoes. A left shoe, because they were all lefts. He had been gifted, according to the tag, Nine Missing Shoes.

Dean ran a hand over his face. “They’re not actively trying to kill us. Can we not look a gift horse, here?”

Sam tossed the shoe back into the box. “Let’s get started.”

Castiel had advised the fairies be kept in the dungeon - in their tightly sealed jars, of course - until he could determine what best to do with them. Dean and Sam, meanwhile, had a plan for the rest. Seven smoothies, flushed away. Six salt bags, piled in storage (after all, it would eventually get used). Five books, after being screened for usefulness, taken to recycling. Four whiskeys, after being tasted for quality, down the drain. Three tapes, after being checked for listen-a-bility, crushed underfoot. Flannel shirts, if not of plaid or plain flannel, donated. And as for the pie, into a trash bag it would go.

Their mission took the entire day, and after they pulled back into the garage and Dean cut the engine, he turned to Sam. “I think she’s trying to say something about bad luck.”

“With the shoes?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded. “Maybe she’s trying to say that it’s like the other stuff - nothing bad at first, but get ready, it’s coming.”

“Can you just… just get over it, and call her? I’m afraid she’s messing with some bad stuff, if she’s getting into cursed objects all because of a stupid misunderstanding---”

“I have tried, okay?! It kept going to voicemail, all last night, and when I tried earlier, it was disconnected!”

Sam blanched. “We need to do a locator spell, or get Cas to find her - she could be in real trouble, Dean.”

“She’s not in trouble, she’s being a dick,” Dean spat, and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him - and then he froze.

Sam climbed out, followed Dean’s gaze, and he was stunned - there, near the steps leading back into the bunker, was every gift they’d just disposed of, stacked and wrapped, not a bow out of place. They shared a serious look, then spoke at the same time.

“I’m getting the ingredients!” Sam announced.

“I’m getting Cas!” Dean announced.

The locator spell did not work, and the brothers, defeated, went to bed, but fell asleep with faith in their hearts, with faith in their angel friend, who was, at that very moment, out looking for the source of the mischief which had fallen upon them.

However.

They knew he was having no success when they were awoken at the same time in the middle of the night by footsteps running down the hallway. Sleepiness initially impacted aim, but a baker’s dozen of rounds later, and the shoes had been brought to a halt. The pair of gun-wielding, mussed-hair, pajama’d hunters looked upon the pile of hole-filled sneakers at their socked feet.

“Heh. Lucky thirteen,” said Dean.

Sam just looked at him.

“Thirteenth try’s the charm?” Dean suggested.

Sam rolled his eyes, shook his head, and went back to bed.

“‘This is too good, Dean!’ ‘This is great, Dean!’ ‘She’s really nailing you, Dean!’” Dean muttered in a high-pitched, mocking tone as he shuffled off to his bedroom. A squeak from behind caused him to whip around, fire a shot into the side of a shoe which had weakly tried to make a run for it. Its laces went lax.

Dean made sure to reload before his head met his pillow.

10.

A not-so-fresh homemade rotted-apple pie. Two lavender, paisley-patterned flannel shirts. Three rocking tapes filled with “Rock-A-Bye-Baby”, karaoke-style, by a singer who sounded a great deal like William Shatner. Four rancid whiskey shots. Five Hardy Boys books. Six twenty-pound sacks of salt. Seven pureed elf smoothies, with what appeared to be fingernails sprinkled on top. Eight angry fairies, whose flailing was beginning to crack the glass. Nine missing shoes, which squeaked out whines despite not making contact with the floor.

And now, ten tiny bubbling cauldrons of putrid purple, Ten Witches’ Fluids, all for Dean.

“I hate her,” Dean said.

“No, you don’t,” Sam said.

“I’m gonna kill her,” Dean said.

“No, you won’t,” Sam said.

11.

Dean crouched down, jaw dropped, putting himself on eye-level with the intricately-carved case, fixated on the row of eleven clown marionettes. He poked one in the tummy with his index finger. They all began to sway and giggle maniacally.

“Yep,” he said. “Eleven clowns-a-dancing.”

“Nope,” Sam said, and he fished his lighter from his pocket, then held it between his teeth as he began to drag one of the massive bags of salt toward the table. He managed to tear the corner of it open, spilling salt everywhere, scooping up two handfuls and stomping to the creepy diorama.

Dean shook himself out of distraction and stood in between his adrenaline-fueled brother and the newest gift. “What are you---- no, Sam, NO!”

Sam threw the salt in the direction of the snickering puppet nightmare anyway, but the lighter now resided in a tightly-clutched fist. “WHY NOT?!” he bellowed in response, his neck - his entire face - flushed.

“You wanna do a salt-and-burn inside? Are you insane?”

“SHE’S insane! Why would she do this, what have I ever done to her?!”

“Oh, because I deserve this? Because I’ve done something to her?!”

Sam was livid, and he’d be lying if he said a good portion of it wasn’t from fear. “What was the fight about?”

“Whadda you care?”

Now it was Sam’s jaw that dropped, and he wordlessly gestured to the clowns; they tittered and chanted “Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam!” in acknowledgment.

Dean sighed. “She got pissed because when she met up with us to help out, I said… look, she’s real independent, I get it, and I get that she’s been hunting a long time, but not as long as we have, and….”

“What. Did. You. Do,” Sam asked, voice low, teeth grit.

“I maybe said… suggested… that she hang back a little, because… well, you remember her leg? The time before last? When she wasn’t paying attention, and that rugaru shoved her into that rusty junk at the scrapyard? How nasty it was? How much she cried, I mean, I’ve never seen her cry, and...”

Sam crossed his arms, narrowed his eyes.

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find his next words, and when he did, they came out in a burst. “She could've gotten tetanus!”

Sam looked at Dean in disbelief. “Do you like her-like her?”

Dean gave him a look. “Are we in grade school? What the hell does----”

Sam quite possibly gasped. “You do.” Now he took a few steps in Dean’s direction, quite possibly poised to punch. “I heard you talking to her about staying safe, and giving her tips she doesn’t need, but you’re the reason she cut out early, aren’t you? You went and pulled a bunch of ‘Hey sweetheart, you’re gonna get yourself hurt, I’ll protect you’ crap, didn’t you?”

Dean’s silence was all the confirmation that was needed.

Sam shook his head, began backing away, pointing to the clowns. “Burn them!” he hissed, then continued in reverse out of the room, not turning his back on the pile of presents til he was halfway down the hall.

12.

So it was, on the twelfth day of Christmas, the exhausted and gut-churned brothers now had in their possession:

A troupe of tiny clowns who wouldn’t shut up; a now-quarantined med room because of witch fluid corroding anything in its path; shoes that screamed as they pounded against the door of the room into which they’d been thrown; a dungeon filled with escaped, definitely rabid fairies; a stopped-up sink of viscous elf; a storage room stacked with overflowing bags of salt that trickled into the hall; a kitchen table filled with bottom-barrel whiskey; a crate with un-spooled tapes that would re-spool each night; racks filled with garish flannels; and taking over the refrigerator, worm-laden apple pies.

"It's the 24th. That's it," whispered Sam.

"What could that mean for tomorrow? Since it'll officially be Christmas?" Dean whispered back.

Sam turned to him, seriousness coating his posture, his expression, his tone. "It means we should be the hell out of town."

Dean grabbed Sam by his jacket, eyes wild. "She’ll find us! It doesn't matter where we go! Cas is still out there looking for her, but he’s never gonna find her!"

“She doesn’t want to be found. And I know why. I know what I did,” Sam said.

A barely-there vroom prompted them to look warily upon the twelve glossy, innocent-seeming toys in the long, narrow box. Dean let loose of Sam, and then he snatched the tag off the box - TO DEAN ~ Twelve Classic Cars - ripped it in two, and tossed the scraps to the side. Not that it would do anything but it felt good.

“So, what? What do you think? Will it help us get out of this mess?” he asked.

“I don’t know, because how am I supposed to apologize?” Sam asked in reply, and then he said, “I heard you being all patronizing with your hunter 101 tips, at the motel. I was right there, and I didn’t speak up. I could’ve changed the subject or pulled you aside and told you to lay off. That’s what I did - what I didn’t do.”

Dean grew solemn. “So that’s what I was being? Patronizing?”

Sam nodded. “You’d wouldn’t talk that way to me. I mean, you want me safe - I want you safe - and you sure as hell tell me when you disagree with me, but... you’d never make it seem like… like…”

“Like if you got hurt on a hunt, it’d be because you couldn’t take care of yourself.”

“Yeah. I think... I think all she needs to know is that you believe in her, and you’ve got her back.”

“And how I think she’s pretty freaking badass,” Dean added. “Because, I do.”

They stood silently for a few moments. Twelve tinny horns honked. They looked to the cars.

“Curse box?” asked Sam.

“Curse box,” confirmed Dean.

The curse box, while sturdy and appropriately chanted over, was - apparently - on holiday, as it were.

It was midnight when Sam was jolted awake by his door slamming against the wall, Dean jumping on his bed so hard it nearly rolled him onto the floor with the rebound. He immediately pulled his gun from under his pillow when he saw Dean’s shocked expression, the shotgun in his hands, aimed somewhere at the floor. Then he noted twelve pairs of headlights, heard twelve revving engines.

And eleven cackling clowns.

And nine pounding steps.

And eight flapping wings.

The clock on the bedside table flipped to 12:01.

Despite everything, Dean grinned. “Merry Christmas,” he said with a pump of the shotgun.

The grin was returned. “Merry Christmas,” replied Sam with a click of the hammer.

You leaned back, moving your legs to the side as Chuck took his seat, then passed two of the small popcorn containers he carried to you and Amara.

“Extra salt?” you asked.

“Got you covered,” he said in reply; to Amara, he said, “And there’s M&Ms, too, Sis."

“Oooooh, yes,” she responded happily.

“What’d I miss?” asked Chuck.

“Round one just started,” you answered, then ate a mouthful of the best popcorn ever created.

“Oh, I almost forgot to ask - did you want some elf poltergeists in the pipes?” Amara inquired.

You shook your head. “No, this is good. I think they learned their lesson. Besides, I’m glad they’re having some fun.” You pointed to the large movie screen at the front of the empty theater. “Look at those faces.”

“Pure bliss,” she agreed. “And I must say, you’re very creative.”

“Not really,” you said with a little laugh. “I just thought: how do I show them that even the best hunters can get wrapped up in a crazy situation? How sometimes it’s just bad luck? And that the last thing that’s helpful is to be babied about it? Plus, well, ‘tis the season of giving.”

“So do you think you’ll go for it with Dean, now that you’ve got some inside scoop?” asked Chuck.

“Ah. Well. What do you guys think I should do?”

“Can’t answer that,” Amara said.

“Free will’s the name of the game,” Chuck said.

“Fair enough,” you said.

A few moments of chewing on the parts of all parties, then:

“He’s a great kisser,” Amara offered.

“I wrote him to be fantastic in bed,” Chuck added.

You gulped, then coughed. “Good to know,” you croaked.

Chuck smiled. “Who says we don’t answer prayers?”

See Nash Write : Master / See Nash Write : Mobile

🏷️🏷️Wanna be tagged? Hit me up! 🏷️🏷️

Author’s Note #2: I know I took liberties with the 12 days dates, hope you don’t mind too terribly much 😉

Author’s Note #3: My trope comment means: Dean likes pie? Are you sure?! and Sam loves THE LORE?! OMG! and on and on and on, which often... often... offfften... we (and yes, I’m pointing fingers at myself, too!) beat into the ground in our stories. I thought I’d attack some of those. And granted, they attacked back.

Behold, the summoning of The Nashooligans:

@butiaintgonnaloveem @impandagrl @waywardjoy @jalove-wecallhimdean @jame-sbarnes @just-another-busy-fangirl @amanda-teaches @fanforfanatic @salt-n-burn-em-all @idreamofhazel @cyrilconnelly @rozadolphin @theblackharrystyles @carryonmycobaltangel @ilsawasanacrobat @klaineaholic @helvonasche @ericaprice2008 @amionthetumbler @tankcupcakes @littlegreenplasticsoldier @emlostinwonderland @michellethetvaddict @theoriginalvicki @ellen-reincarnated1967 @copperseraphim @mrswhozeewhatsis @crowleylovesyou @bumbleball13 @anticipate1003 @sixtysevenandwhiskey @raspberrymama @lastactiontricia @babypieandwhiskey @winchesterprincessbride @gripmetight-raisemefromperdition @roseblue373 @waterfeenix137 @thisismysecrethappyplace @fandomismyspirit @thedevilinthedetails @rainflowermoon

#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Christmas Fanfic #Christmas Fanfiction #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Castiel #and more!#Nash Writes #Queueby Dooby Doo #Dad's on a blog post and #he hasn't been queued in a few days

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wildirishrosie38 · 3 years

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Birthday Boy

Dean woke up to the sound of singing coming from the kitchen. He pulled on a t shirt from his clean stack of clothes and grabbed his robe. He followed the sound to find his girlfriend standing at the stove. "Hey. What's got you in a good mood?" He smiled as he hugged her from behind. She turned around to wrap her arms around his neck and returned the favor. "You, of course." Emma said then kissed him. "Go grab some coffee. Breakfast is almost done." "Smells good!" Dean exclaimed and walked to the coffee pot. He grabbed a couple cups and filled them up. As Emma made up a couple plates for them, Sam joined them. "Hey guys. Emma, I took care of that phone call." Sam spoke as he went to the frig and grabbed a bottle of water. "Thanks, Sam." Emma replied as she carries the plates to the table. "There's more on the stove if ya want it." "What call?" Dean asked as he sat down to a hot breakfast of fried eggs, hash browns, and all the bacon he could eat. "Huh?" Sam asked as he leaned against the counter. He twisted off the cap of his water and took a drink. "You said you took care of a phone call for Em. What was it?" Dean asked as he dug into his eggs. "Oh. Uh yeah. Nothing. Just another hunter wanting some advice. Emma was in the middle of cooking so I took it for her." Sam answered which was a lie. But he didn't want to let on to what Emma had planned. Dean looked from his brother to his girlfriend and thought something was up. But kept it to himself. He turned his attention back to his breakfast, enjoying every bite of it. Emma sat across from him watching as he ate. She couldn't help but laugh at how much he could eat, especially bacon. She smiled as she ate her own breakfast. Sam grabbed some toast, an egg and made an egg sandwich with a few added veggies. He sat down beside his brother and ate happily. "So what are the plans for the day?" Dean asked as he finished up. "I was thinking of just hanging out, maybe grab a good book from my shelf." Sam answered. "Yuck." Dean stuck out his tongue. "Hey, you do what you want to relax and I'll do what I want to relax." Sam defended his decision. "I have to pick up those parts for my truck. Care to drive me into town?" Emma asked with a smile. "Yeah. Let me go get dressed." Dean returned the smile. "Do I get my usual payment for fixing your truck?" "What do you think?!" Emma winked at him. "Yes!" Dean pumped his fist in the air in triumph. He jumped up from the table and disappeared to his room to change. "I'll keep him distracted while you get everything set up." Emma looked at Sam. "Yes. Balloons and stuff are in the room beside mine as we speak. Cake and pie both will be ready at 3. I can sneak out to get them." Sam reassured her with a smile. "Sounds good. I can probably keep him out of the bunker til after that." Emma looked at her watch and made a mental note in her mind. "It's a plan. Get him out of here. And I'll take care of the rest." Sam added as he picked up the empty dishes from the table. "I'll take care of these as well." "Thank you, Sam." Emma was grateful for his help. "I mean it." She had to stand on her tip toes to hug him. She helped him clear the dishes to the sink before she left him. Dean put the couple boxes of truck parts in Baby's trunk as Emma slipped out of her jacket. She tossed it in the backseat then climbed in the front passenger seat. Dean slipped into the driver seat, started Baby up then turned to Emma. "So you want to head back so I can fix your truck?" Dean winked at his girlfriend. Emma slid across the seat to sit right beside him. "Let's take advantage of the sunshine and go for a drive first." Emma gave him a wicked smile. "Maybe I can pay you in advance." "Happy birthday to me!" Dean smiled as he shifted Baby into drive. Emma twisted the knob on the radio to pull in the local classic rock station. "You read my mind, Sweetheart." Dean pulled Baby off the two lane black top onto a dirt road leading to a secluded spot in the middle of the woods. He parked and wrapped his arms around Emma. He pulled her close and kissed the side of her head. They settled back in to the leather of Baby's front seat and watched as the world passed by. Sam had balloons stuck all around the map room and the staircase. Emma had a banner made up that he hung up as well. He stood on the steps to the library to check his work when the door creaked opened. He looked up to see Cas. "Sam, what is all of this?" Cas asked as he looked around in wonderment. "Hey Cas." Sam greeted the angel. "Yeah.. um.. Emma wanted to throw Dean a birthday party. She out with him so I can get everything up and ready." "Today is Dean's birthday." Cas said as he came down the stairs to join Sam on the steps. "Yep." Sam smiled and glanced at his watch. "I actually have to go into town to grab some stuff." "Need me to come along?" Cas asked. "Sure. Come on." Sam replied and led the angel back up the stairs to the front door. Time seemed to pass by slowly as Dean and Emma slipped into the back seat of Baby. Radio cranked up and playing a mixed tape of loving making songs. Emma held on tight to Dean's arms as he slipped their jeans off. Dean looked into those baby blues for permission to go further. Emma smiled and gave him the go ahead. Their rocking matched up with the beat of the music. Soon they were in the throws of love making. Dean kissed every inch of exposed skin on Emma's body which caused her to shiver and have goosebumps. Before they knew it, they had exploded together and laying side by side facing each other. Dean softly brushed Emma's hair out of her eyes. "I still wonder what it is I did to deserve you." Dean smiled at her. "I lowered my standards." Emma joked. "Funny." Dean shot back. "I mean it, Emma." "You want an honest answer?" Emma asked as she gently traced the lines of his abs. "Yes. What did you see in me that made you fall in love with a man like me?" Dean asked. "First off, I didn't fall in love with a man like you. I fell in love with you, Winchester." Emma stated as she poked him in the chest. "That smart ass smirk of yours is what caught me. You were just so damn adorable with it." "Were?" Dean acted offended. "Yes. Now you are the most handsome man I have ever known. Inside and out, Dean." Emma smiled and looked into those green eyes. She had seen those eyes hide so much pain then turn around and show so much love in the blink of a eye. "You have the biggest heart. Your care and love of others is admirable." Emma continued. Dean grinned to hear her talk about how much she loved him. He just wished he could return the favor but every time he tried, he got tongue tied and the words come out all wrong. "Your toughness, your ability to never give up even when there is nothing left. Your ability to make me feel safe no matter where we are. I know as long as you are alive, I will always have the feeling of home." Emma spoke from the heart. She wanted him to know just how much she appreciated him. She glanced at her watch a moment. "I could go on and on, but we should get back so you can get to working on my truck." "Yeah." Dean agreed as he ran his fingers through his hair. Sam and Cas picked up the cake, pie, and other food they needed. They returned to the bunker to find that Emma and Dean weren't back yet. Sam directed Cas to take stuff to the kitchen while he pulled out his phone. He quickly sent a text message to Emma. "Everything's set up. Cas is here. Ready when you are." Emma read the text as Dean turned Baby around and headed her towards home. "Heading back now. Be there in about ten minutes." She texted back to Sam. Dean noticed her out of the corner of his eye. "Anything important?" He asked. "No just a text from that hunter that called this morning." Emma lied. She didn't like to lie to him but she also knew that what she and Sam had waiting for him back in the bunker was gonna to blow him away. "Uh huh." Dean was suspicious of her. "Do I know this hunter?" "I don't think so. He from up in New England. He's the son of an old friend not my dad's." Emma lied and without realizing it looked down at her feet. She slipped her phone into her jeans and looked back at Dean. "You keep your secrets, woman. I'll get them out of you later." Dean gave her that smart ass grin. "Oh I bet you will." Emma gave him her own smart ass grin. Sam and Cas stood beside the map table to wait on Emma and Dean. A birthday cake and an apple pie sat on the table with plates, forks, and a knife. Sam had stuck a few birthday candles in both the cake and pie. "Is all of this necessary to celebrate the day that Dean was being?" Cas asked as he held the cardboard cone hat in his hands. Sam picked one up from the table and put it on. "Yes." Sam answered. "Cas, growing up the way Dean and I did, we never celebrated birthdays. So we missed out on this." Sam pointed around the room at the balloons and other decorations. He had a moment of heartache but pushed it aside. This was Dean's day. "Since Emma's come to be a great part of our lives, she has been bringing the joy of days like this to Dean and me." Sam continued with a sincere tone. "I feel ridiculous." Cas spoke as he put the hat on his head. "But it's for Dean, I'll wear it." "Haha. Yeah I do, too." Sam laughed. Just then the door creaked open and the two men looked up to see who was there. "SURPRISE!" Sam yelled as he saw his brother come to the railing on the landing. Dean was super surprised as Emma stood beside him with a wide grin on her face. "What is all this?" Dean asked as he took it all in. Emma stood on tiptoes, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and a hug. "Happy birthday, babe!" Emma exclaimed. "Happy birthday, Dude!" Sam called out as Dean and Emma came down the stairs. Dean walked around in a circle to take it all in. "Yes. Happy birthday, Dean." Cas followed suit. His voice the usual monotone when he didn't understand something that his friends were doing. "Make a wish." Sam grabbed a lighter and lit the candles. Dean laughed as Emma placed a birthday boy hat on his head. "What could I wish for that I don't have right here right now?" Dean asked then bent down to blow out the candles. He grabbed Emma by the waist and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her softly on those blush colored lips of hers. "I have everything I ever wanted already. A family."

#dean winchester #supernatural #birthday #family

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mattzerella-sticks · 7 years

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You’re My Win (Coda to 13x05)

Dean and Sam finally reunite with Cas. And then what?

Here’s what happens after (A03)

There was tension – a surprising amount of tension: and not the usual kind. Dean sat rigid at the wheel; his eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead – an oddity on its own. Cas fidgeted in the back, his hands playing with the fabric of his new coat. He’d open his mouth every so often as if to speak, but nothing came out. He kept eyeing the rearview mirror, looking for something that was never there when he looked.

Sam didn’t know what to make of it.

It was good for a minute. Dean stared at Cas and the angel stared right back. Nothing strange. Then Dean launched forward, practically falling on top of Cas. Sam could see how Dean had wrapped himself around the angel, whose blue eyes were shining with tears. Even Dean seemed to shudder.

But all that lasted a minute. Dean pried himself off of Cas, giving him two good pats on the shoulder before turning tail. He kept his eyes trained on the ground as he makes his way back to the car.

“Let’s go home,” he mumbles, getting in.

Sam gapes. He looks from Dean to Cas, said angel quickly running his hand over his eyes. He’s staring at Dean as he fiddles with everything from the volume knob to the keys in the ignition.

Sam clears his throat, and finally Cas takes notice of the other Winchester. Sam’s mouth tightens and he gives a small wave, which Cas returns with a tight smile of his own.

“Come on,” Sam says, motioning for Cas, “it’s been a long day.”

Cas nods, creeping forward slowly.

Now, they’re almost home, and nothing but the low thrums of Dean’s music have pierced the veil of silence inside the Impala.

Until Zeppelin hit the chorus of a familiar song, causing Cas to emit a slight sound.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks almost immediately, whipping around. Sam notices the loose grip Dean has on the wheel, and tries to pay attention to both the road and the scene unfolding nearby.

Cas, wide-eyed, answers back: “Nothing. It’s just… this song was on your tape.”

“My tape… you mean your mix-tape?” Dean asks, smiling slightly, eyes focused on Cas rather than the road, “You… remember?”

“I liked this one…”

“Ramble On,” Dean chuckles, “me too.”

Dean’s voice dies down, letting Plant’s ramble over. Cas meets Dean’s stare, and smiles. Sam can see Dean struck with a slight blush around his cheeks. Dean removes his hand from the wheel to scratch at his neck, and Sam jumps.

“Dean. Dean!”

He turns to find Sam’s hair in his face and his hands at the wheel.

“Back off!” Dean pushes, reclaiming control of the wheel, “What was that for?”

“You were distracted,” Sam says, looking at Cas for a split-second. Dean followed his gaze, and the blush was back and stronger than before.

“…Shut up.”

They made it back without any more trouble. Dean parked the car and they headed towards the Bunker door.

“Now I got to warn you,” Sam starts, his arm around Cas’s shoulders, “we have someone who will be thrilled to see you.”

“I was wondering where Mary was?” Cas smiles, only for it to fall when he takes in the brothers’ faces. “Did I… did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

“No, Cas… it’s just-“

“Mom’s gone,” Dean says, staring straight ahead, “Disappeared into the universal crack with Lucifer and… saved us all.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Cas says, squeezing the crook of Dean’s arm and looking at Sam, “Really.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam says. He sees Dean squeezing Cas’s hand where its perched on him. “Really,” Sam continues, “But… we might be able to get her back.”

“How?” Cas asks, following Dean inside the Bunker, “I don’t know if there is a way to tear through the universes-“

“Dean? Sam? Are you home?”

Cas stops, looking down from the top of the stairs as Jack walks in, focused on the laptop in his arms. He finally looks up and notices Castiel, staring at him with a furrowed brow. He tilts his head to the side.

“…Castiel?”

“Who… who’s this?” Cas asks, looking to Dean.

Sam clears his throat and steps forward. “Cas,” he says, “Meet Jack. He… hit a bit of a growth spurt after he was born.”

“Jack?” Cas asks, stepping forward. He makes it down the steps where Jack is waiting for him, the laptop abandoned on a nearby table. They stare at each other for quite a while.

“…Father?”

Cas breaks down for the second time that night, bringing Jack close and cradling him in his arms. He closes his eyes and presses his cheek to Jack’s head and sighs.

“Jack…”

Sam and Dean watch from behind, standing just near the foot of the steps. Cas finally lets go and turns to the brothers, his arm still wrapped around Jack.

“Thank you Sam… Dean… for taking care of him-“

“You shouldn’t be… thanking me,” Dean cuts him off, frowning, “Sam did all of the work.”

Cas looks at Sam with his own head tilt, and all he can do is shake his head in answer.

Jack, without prompt, moves the group onto a new topic. “How are you… here?” he asks, looking to Dean, “We burned you. I was told burned bodies don’t come back?”

“They shouldn’t,” Sam continues, moving forward to sit on the edge of a table, “so how did you get here?”

“Well, I-“

“Does it matter?” Dean asks, stepping towards Cas, “He’s back. I say we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. ‘S’not like we get too many of those, anyway.”

“Dean-“

“Besides,” Dean yawns, stretching his body wide and open in a way Sam’s seen him do a thousand times before he wants to avoid talking, “it’s late, and I’m pretty sure it’s a school night.” He jerks a thumb at Jack

“I don’t get why that should matter,” Jack says, “I don’t go to school.”

“Dean’s right, though,” Cas says, squeezing Jack’s shoulder, “you should get some rest. We can talk tomorrow. All of us.” He makes a pointed glance at Dean. The elder Winchester just pouted and looked away, forcing a snigger out of Sam. Dean glares at him.

“You too, Sam,” he needles, “I hear not getting enough sleep can stunt your growth.”

Sam sighs but pulls himself up. “Fine,” he says, “Don’t want to give you any chance of being the taller brother for once.”

“Why you-“

“Dean.”

Dean turns to look at Cas. The angel’s eyes are soft and exasperated and full of something Sam is sure he’s seen before whenever Cas looks at Dean. Cas trying not to smile, but the corners of his mouth is turned up slightly. Dean loses all energy to fight, letting his shoulders droop in surrender.

“Night everybody,” Sam smiles at them.

Jack nods at both Dean and Cas before following Sam. He lets Jack take the lead, setting the walk at a relaxing pace. That is, until he realizes there are only two sets of footsteps making their way out of the room.

Sam stops, and he’s thankful that Jack doesn’t notice. He’s hiding behind the archway and takes a quick peek inside.

It looked like Dean meant to follow Sam, but Cas stopped him with a hand on his chest. They’re talking, and Sam has to concentrate to hear.

“Dean?”

“What?” Dean asks, looking anywhere but at Cas, “I thought you said we’d talk in the morning.”

“We will,” Cas starts, “But I want to talk before that. With you.”

“With… me?”

Sam feels a pit of something gnawing at his gut. A voice whispering in his ear that he shouldn’t be listening – shouldn’t be watching such a private moment. But he does.

“Dean,” Cas says again in that special way he says it. The way that’s reserved for Dean, only Dean and never Sam. “Dean, I… I want to thank you.”

“Thank me?” Dean scoffs, “I didn’t do jack-“

“Stop,” Cas cuts him off, pressing another hand to Dean’s cheek. He lets it fall slowly, sliding it down his face and onto his shoulder. Dean’s struck silent.

“I want to thank you for all that you’ve done,” Cas continues, “From the moment we met and every adventure we shared… Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Earth… angel, demon… human… I thought I had known everything I needed to but around every corner there you were. To surprise me with something I never thought I’d need. Like when I followed you out of that universe the night I-“

“Please, don’t remind me Cas-“

“I looked at you and something… clicked inside me. Like a key opening a door I never thought needed to be opened. That after we vanquished Lucifer it’d be us, and we could finally just be… together.”

“This was… you were thinking this?” Dean asks, smiling, “Right up until…”

“Yes,” Cas nods, “It was a pleasant thought to go out on.”

“And now that you’re back?”

“Nothing changes,” Cas smiles, leaning closer, “I was promised paradise, and I found it…”

He kisses Dean gently, and pulls back.

“In you.”

Sam can see the shock in Dean’s eyes. Sam’s gaping from his spot, fingers glued to the stone so as not to clap in excitement. He’s biting his lip, waiting to see what happens next.

“You… son of a bitch-“

Dean grabs Cas and crashes his lips onto the angels. Sam nearly chokes in surprise, slipping slightly in the moment.

“You come back,” Dean pants, pulling away, “with that touchy-feely speech…probably all prepped and prepared – giving me no time to think of anything. Have to think on the spot and… I don’t know what to say, okay! Since the second I saw your grace burn from inside out I’ve felt… lost. You say you saw forever before you died well I couldn’t… because any hope for my future died with you. I couldn’t see a happy life for myself if you weren’t in it. And I tried – I really, really tried. But I just… you weren’t there, and Jack was an’ he looked so much like you an’ Sam just kept going on about getting Mom back I… I…”

“Dean, it’s alright-“

“No Cas it’s not alright,” Dean grabs Cas by his shoulders, “I’m not alright. I need you, Cas. Your death, Mom’s sacrifice… they were hard hits. And it all kept getting harder. We were losing… I was losing. I needed a win… and then you called.”

Dean stares at Cas, and Sam can see what he saw in Cas’s eyes reflected back. He leans in closer, to make sure that he’s not imagining it.

“Being here with you… having you home with me – that’s my win, Cas,” Dean says, leaning closer, “You’re my win.”

Dean brings Cas in for another kiss, slower and gentler like Cas’s first kiss. Sam turns away, having been burned like Icarus. He takes a deep breath and prepares to leave, but he hears something that keeps him where he is.

“I love you.”

Sam tries to remember any other time Dean sounded that vulnerable, that… open. There were moments, places in time where Dean nearly sounded like he did just now. But this was a side of Dean Sam never knew existed. He’s not even sure Dean knew until now.

“I… love you, too.”

He doesn’t need to hear anymore. Sam makes his escape, long legs aiding in the venture. Sam doesn’t know how fast he makes it back to his room, but it’s not long before he’s in bed staring up at the ceiling, trying to get to sleep.

It doesn’t help when he hears familiar voices echoing down the hallway, giggling and knocking into the walls every few seconds.

But eventually sleep does find him. It’s not a long and peaceful sleep, but that doesn’t matter.

Because soon enough he’s seated in the kitchen, across from Jack who’s scarfing down a bowl of cereal with reckless abandon and a smile on his face. Cas is watching nearby, under Dean’s arm while Dean takes a bite out of his bacon. The sight of them together, happy – even without Mom, it makes him feel… happy.

Like this is his win, too.

#Supernatural #Spn #Spn13 #13x05 #Advanced Thanatology #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #Destiel fanfic #Supernatural fanfic #Spn fanfic #Coda #Jack Kline

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thedogsled · 7 years

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Thursday

“I know what you said. It isn’t my intention to make you angry, but this is not a gift I feel I can accept, knowing that I have once again – in full knowledge of my actions – betrayed your trust in me. Please know that I am doing this to keep you out of it. This thing with Kelly, with Lucifer’s child… It’s on me, Dean. I lost her when I lost you. Moreover, I was the one who let Lucifer out of the Cage. Ultimately this mess is all my fault, and if I do nothing else with my miserable life it must be to correct at least some of the many mistakes that I have made. I must prevent this child from being born, whatever the cost to me, and if I have the chance to end Lucifer I will take that as well. I must.“

To read more on A03

Click here

or read more under the cut.

The bunker was a metaphor for his life.

What with everything that had happened since, Dean had forgotten what state they’d find their home in when they returned: the beer bottles, hammers and dust; books everywhere, blood everywhere, dead people and broken tables.

Then there was the giant fucking hole blown in one wall, like a gunshot in the back of the bunker’s skull, or a gaping chasm in a broken heart.

When he looked at Sam, his brother looked shell-shocked too. They’d both forgotten. It wasn’t just Dean whose grip on reality had been knocked for six.

After burning his best friend’s body and driving half a day across the country, Dean was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. He hadn’t even been able to sleep in the back seat the way he usually did after a hunt, the gentle lull of the Impala’s engine no anaesthesia against the gut-wrenching misery that tempered every breath with fresh pain.

Living was too hard, and if this was the end result of Amara’s parting gift to him then fuck her very much.

The bunker was a wreck. Even the idea of tidying it up filled him with despair. Sam caught something in his expression, maybe, because he said “I got this,” and didn’t complain when Dean went shuffling off in the direction of their rooms.

He’d stood outside his own door for half a lifetime before he realized why he couldn’t go in.

How could he sleep? How the fuck could he sleep when his mother was gone, when Cas was dead, when he’d let Sam convince him to burn the body because it was the right thing to do. How could he sleep? He knew he would, so completely bone tired now that he could barely keep upright, so how could he go into that room and put his head on his pillow and let this day be done? He couldn’t. His hands smelled of wet moss from collecting fallen branches, and his clothes stank overwhelmingly of bonfire smoke and meat and decay, but he couldn’t convince himself to take them off. If this day was done, then it was done. It was over. He’d have to let Cas go the way Sam insisted he should: because their mom was still alive, and someone had to go and save her.

Dean locked his knees, swaying on the spot as misery came on the upswing, punching through him again. He’d fallen once already. Since then he’d stood beside the fire, stood when they faced Jack, stood strong against the impending threat of angels. He’d kept his eyes clear and dry while he gripped the wheel in a white knuckled death grip. It was coming back to him now, though, the agony swirling and commanding, choking him with all the unshed tears that he’d had to keep down for Jack’s sake, just to keep Junior on point.

But here Dean was. Here he was afraid to go into his own room, afraid to let this day end, because that meant there’d be no taking it back. It had taken almost two days for him to fall asleep from exhaustion the first time he’d lost Sam; Dean remembered it as though it were yesterday. It hurt less because it was so long ago, but he knew that at the time it had felt like this. He’d done whatever he could to save Sam. But Cas? He’d let Cas burn. What kind of friend did that make him? What kind of brother?

Rigidly, Dean tore himself back from the door. He couldn’t let it end like this. He had to do something, had to acknowledge his loss somehow, even if it was just with lots and lots of beer.

His feet stopped again outside Castiel’s quarters. Dean let himself inside, closing the door quietly behind him. Unlike the rest of the bunker, Castiel’s room was untouched, had been that way since the last time he was here, when he’d tried to give Dean back that mix tape. He’d played him, taken the Colt from under his pillow, and with it – it felt – he had robbed him of all the safe, established things their relationship represented. After all the years that Dean had worked on forgiving him for his betrayals, Cas had come down from Heaven and – using all the skill Dean had taught him over the years – he’d taken him for a ride.

--And not in a good way.

In the centre of the bed was a manila envelope with the word “Dean” written on it.

Dean didn’t notice the rest of the room. In fact, from the moment he noticed the envelope it all sort of zoned out, fuzzy around the edges. His heart sank.

It took him so long to actually move to the bed that Dean was sure the day had passed into the next. He still stank, though. He was still tired, so it must still be Thursday after all.

He sank down on the very edge of the bed, picked up the envelope in shaking fingers, and flinched as a black tape fell into his lap.

It was that goddamned mix tape. Of course it was. The words stared up at him. The secret kisses in “TRA xx”, the desperate hope to convey his love without baring his heart and stating it out loud, as Cas had done when he lay there dying.

At once Dean felt a sharp spike of rage, even if he knew perfectly well that it was misdirected. He’d said it was a fucking gift. He’d ordered him to keep it. Which part of that didn’t Cas get?

But Cas was dead, he reminded himself. Cas was dead, and Dean couldn’t stand to be angry at him any more. Cas was dead, so what was the fucking point?

There was a letter inside. He took it out and stared at it, unable to even so much as read past the first line for a minute or so. When he did, it near enough destroyed him, as if he wasn’t halfway there already.

Dean,

I know what you said. It isn’t my intention to make you angry, but this is not a gift I feel I can accept, knowing that I have once again – in full knowledge of my actions – betrayed your trust in me. Please know that I am doing this to keep you out of it. This thing with Kelly, with Lucifer’s child… It’s on me, Dean. I lost her when I lost you. Moreover, I was the one who let Lucifer out of the Cage. Ultimately this mess is all my fault, and if I do nothing else with my miserable life it must be to correct at least some of the many mistakes that I have made. I must prevent this child from being born, whatever the cost to me, and if I have the chance to end Lucifer I will take that as well. I must.

I regret that it means I must do this to you. You have called me friend, family, even brother. I don’t deserve any of that, Dean. I have tried. I’m no hunter. I looked for you, when you were taken. For months I looked for you. I failed. It feels as though all I do any more is fail. All I ever do is disappoint you. I don’t blame you. I disappoint myself.

I can’t even tell you how I feel about you.

That’s why I can’t accept the tape. A mix tape is a romantic gesture. I’ve watched enough television to know that, and Metatron filled me in with more than enough details of fictional romances old and new. I have never told you what I feel about you in words that you understand. I tried to. I have tried. I failed at that, too. And I betrayed you. I don’t deserve your love, even the small gesture that this tape conveys. But most of all, Dean, I don’t believe given what I’ve had to do that you will be able to forgive me this time.

I’m sorry. I am so sorry. Goodbye, Dean. I love you. I love only you.

Yours always,

Castiel.

There were headphones on the shelf behind the bed, and an old, well used tape player probably scavenged from the bunker’s storage. Dean drank beer and listened to the tape – Side A, Side B, Side A, Side B, over and over again - and he cried until his face hurt, until his head hurt, until his eyes itched and burned like raw coals in his skull. At some point he fell asleep in the clothes that smelled of death and fire; of burning angel and ruined hope.

When he woke up, it wasn’t Thursday any more.

#fanfic #spn #destiel #i made a mistake #this hurts a lot #s13 spoilers #coda

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shirtlesssammy · 7 years

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The Future: How’s Everyone Doing? Did Everyone Survive? Recap

Then:

To reiterate: Worried husband is worried. Also, Dagon, blah, blah, blah.

Now:

Kelly appears to be in far less posh accommodations than last we saw her. Dirty and chained to an old cot in the basement of an undisclosed location, she at least is getting round the clock care from Nurse Ratchet Dagon. Dagon reminds Kelly that she can do what she wants but the nephilim will destroy her, and the world. Before Dagon leaves Kelly alone again, she suggests Kelly “take a bath.” So, um, Kelly does. And she brings along a nice straight-edge. 1) that was kind of a weird voice-over, and B) that’s a lot of blood for someone we know isn’t going to die.

SAM IN THE LIBRARY MONTAGE ALERT

These 25 seconds are my Sam Jam. Dean finds his savant brother in the war room with a clearer picture about nephilim and how much time they have before they need to find Kelly. “I think she’ll be giving birth around May 18th.” All the Lolz and eye rollz. How Very Convenient that’s the same day as the season finale.

ABSENT HUSBAND ALERT

Yes, Dean, tell us more about how you’re pissed at your “friend” for disappearing for a couple months. Please, you’re pretty angry and we all believe you. Agggghhhh, Cas heard Dean’s “messages”. Like, his actual phone messages? Or his “it’s 2 am and I can’t sleep so I’m gonna pray to you messages?” Well, Dean is too pissed to even talk, so he storms off to his bedroom.

In his bedroom, he’s busy running some crazy tracking programs on his computer, when there’s a knock on his door. I swear I’ve read this fanfic before. Oh wait,

I did.

It’s Cas. He just stopped by to return a mix tape Dean had made him. A. MIX. TAPE. When I was 13, a boy made me a mix tape. I couldn’t give myself hope that it meant anything more than friendship. 20 years later, I confirmed that my 13 year old self was stupid. CAS, YOU ARE BEING STUPID.

DEAN MADE CAS A MIX TAPE. Like, how is that not romantic? Like, I’m not a dude, but is that something dudes do for each other in the digital age? (And think about it, Cas doesn’t trust computers. Dean thought of that and went through the effort of making an analog gift.)

Anyway, I could go on all day and all summer hiatus about this.

Dean decides to at least open up a little to Cas. He can barely talk, but he makes it clear to Cas that he can’t just disappear like he did. “We were worried. That’s not ok.” Cas apologizes but confesses that he feels like he’s always failing. He failed to find them when they were in prison. He failed to find Kelly. Dean counters that they’re all in the same boat. They also had a chance at Kelly and lost her. Sam is determined to find a way to save Kelly before the baby is born. Cas wonders, if they can’t find her in time, if they can kill an innocent. “We will find a better way,” Dean insists. Team Free Will! Dean leaves his room before they kiss and make up. Hmmm.

Meanwhile, Dagon goes to check on Kelly, and finds a tub of blood ---and a perfectly healthy Kelly. It seems the nephilim wants to live.

Later in the library, Sam asks Dean about tracking the nephilim. That question leads Sam to wonder about extracting the angel grace from the nephilim, thus leaving it a perfectly normal baby. Kelly and her baby could both live. “Hot damn.” They have a plan. Dean runs to get Cas!

CAS HAS A ROOM ALERT

Dean knocks on Cas’s door, but no one answers. In fact, the room is empty. Cas is gone. 1) Cas has a room, confirmed. B) Oh, Dean Bean.

Dagon and Kelly are having a heart to heart about Kelly’s miraculous non-death. Kelly seems to have renewed faith in her demon spawn.

Cas did indeed ditch the Brothers Winchester. He also stole the Colt. He meets Kelvin and hands over the Colt.

They’ve got 2 bullets and a give-em-hell attitude for killing Dagon and Kelly. Dean calls, but Cas doesn’t answer. Castiel. Smh. Cas makes it perfectly clear to Kelvin that he’s not working for the angels. “I’m doing this for the Winchesters. I stole the Colt to keep them out of this mission and to keep them safe from Dagon. And I will kill this girl so Sam and Dean don’t have to.” Can’t say that he didn’t pick up anything from Dean over the past 9 years. He’ll do anything to protect his family. Even when it’s the wrong way.

Dagon is busy watching her game shows when the angels sneak into the house. Dagon kind of has the jump on them --in the sense that she was totally ready and completely kicks their butts. Cas kinda wastes a bullet, but in his defense, I don’t think he’s ever used a gun before. (Natasha: he used a shotgun during the apocalypse.) Kelvin tells Cas to go find Kelly while he battles Dagon. Welp, I liked you Kelvin.

Cas finds Kelly in the basement.

Dean is back to silent treatment with Cas so he makes Sam call him, but Sam has no luck. Sam wonders how Cas grabbed the Colt from the safe in the first place. It seems that Dean was keeping it under his pillow.

Dean: I say we find him and we kick his feathered ass.

Sam: Cas wouldn’t have taken the Colt if he wasn’t going up against something big.

Dean: Ok, I say we find him, figure out what’s going on, then we kick his feathered ass.

Man Dean, you’re really focusing on Cas’s feathered ass.

Cas is currently on the run. He couldn’t complete his mission of killing Kelly, so he absconded with her instead. Kelly thanks Cas for not killing her, but he doesn’t want her thanks. He, once again, thinks that he failed at a mission. CAAASSS. Stop. You fight your humanity, but it’s a good thing.

Dagon has a little mental meeting with Lucifer. Luci isn’t too happy that Castiel has his child-to-be. And the end of their convo reveals that Dagon has Kelvin hostage.

Cas and Kelly meanwhile are still on the run. Cas tells Kelly that he’s getting orders from Joshua in heaven. He couldn’t kill her before, but he can now bring her to heaven. Her life, and her baby’s life, will end as soon as they pass through the portal. (Me: squirrels away information for later.) Kelly refuses. Cas pleads with her that this is the only way to stop this very powerful human-archangel hybrid. Kelly seems to have faith in this all powerful being - nothing is born evil. (Dude, it will kill you no matter what else it does with the universe….ain’t no good coming for you in this scenario.) Cas’s very bad day continues when his truck won’t start.

Dagon tortures Kelvin for information on Cas's location. “WWCD,” she whispers. “What would Castiel do?”

Cas ushers Kelly into the hotel room while he googles “how to fix a truck.” (Cas, you adorable sunflower.) Kelly admits that she tried to kill herself – she died – and then her child saved her. Cas is astonished. That explains the pulse of power they felt in Heaven. Kelly promises that her child is good because he saved her. “It was a miracle,” she said, ecstatic. “Maybe it's part of some plan.”

Cas immediately protests. “I used to believe in a plan. But everyone is just winging it.” There's no grand blueprint. (Trust him, he met God. Not impressed.) “You were just there,” he tells her about how she came to be impregnated by Lucifer. And I have to pause here because all season Kelly has been sort of blah oatmeal, referred to by all parties as a container and having very little agency of her own. It's been hard to argue with that which was super gross given parallels between Kelly-as-container and political narratives which argue that a woman's body IS ultimately just a container. It's such a relief to get some personality in this episode – even if it is highly suspect given the nature of her child and resurrection. In any other context I'd be unimpressed, but the fact that she's arguing back is Such. A. Relief.

Cas sighs. Kelly still maintains that her child will be good for the world. Cas argues that she's going to die anyway. I'm going to imagine this next section as a song. Hum along with me, kids:

Cas: Who will care for him when you're gone?

Chorus: Cas-ti-el, Cas-ti-el!

Cas: Who is strong enough to protect him?

Chorus: Cas-ti-el, Cas-ti-el!

Cas: Who can keep him on the righteous path?

Chorus: Castiel can!

Cas feels the baby kicking and smiles. Kelly's eyes turn yellow and she has a vision of the playground to Heaven, Cas threatening somebody in order to protect her.

There's a knock on the door. It's the Winchesters! “Yeah, that's mine,” Dean says looking at Cas - I mean, the Colt in Cas's hand. Heh. This is immediately followed by Dean slamming Cas into a wall so.... brb just going to be sitting over here giggling.

Anyway, Dean and Cas have a heart to heart. And by “heart to heart” I mean they don't talk about anything at all because interrupting!Sam asks about Kelly.

Turns out the Winchesters have trust issues and Sam lojacked Cas's phone while he was flirting for the Colt in Dean's bedroom. Cas explains that he tried to use the Colt to kill Dagon and failed (cue Charlie Brown frown) and he's hiding out in a hotel because his truck broke down. He explains that he just tried to keep the Winchesters safe. Bullshit, they counter. They explain their grace extraction theory as an alternative to death by sandbox. (A sentence I never thought I’d type.) Kelly absolutely refuses to consider grace extraction – his powers are what make her baby special. Hmmm, oh dear. They all agree to get in the Impala and head to a hideout.

The car is locked (for the first time ever?) (Boris: Cas should have just shattered the window like Henry did) and Dean chucks Cas the keys while Sam and Dean hold their usual to-the-side conversation about the episode's plot. Kelly climbs into the driver's seat and takes off like a bat outta Hell, squealing tires and everything. She's headed for the sandbox, if Cas would be so kind as to tell her where it is. She tells Cas that her baby chose him and told her to go along with his plan and he would be born.

“I am not someone that you should put your faith in,” Cas protests. (Me: hugs Cas so TIGHT.)

Oh yeah? Kelly counters. Well, “before this I was a cut rate political flak in an embarrassingly unprofessional relationship with my boss. I don't know why it's me or you. But I know we're destined for something great.”

Back at the hotel, I don't know what's pissing off Dean more. Cas and Kelly going AWOL again or that he's got to fix Cas's truck. Dean speculates that Cas is so desperate for a win he can't see straight. And, I mean, he's not wrong.

Cas and Kelly arrive at the sandbox, Cas the one who's hesitating. The portal lights up and Joshua appears. Just when we're protesting that Joshua is now played by a white dude he explodes. So...I see what you did there, show.

Dagon waves away Joshua dust and taunts Cas and Kelly. Cas steps in front of her. Who's ready to rumble? Dagon immediately starts kicking Cas's ass which is when the Winchesters arrive. Sam unloads a clip in Dagon which only serves to piss her off and she smacks Sam across the playground. Dean pulls out the one-bullet superweapon and Dagon smokes out then wrenches the gun from Dean's hand. “Time to take this off the board,” she says.

NOOOOO, yell Dean and fans of the Colt everywhere.

Cas stumbles up to Kelly and begs her to run. In response, she holds his hand which, as Dagon notes, is “adorbs.” Kelly's eyes glow yellow and yellow energy zaps into Cas. His eyes glow yellow and, fueled by the power of superbaby, he grabs Dagon's smiting hand and torches the Prince of Hell.

It's a miracle!

Sam and Dean approach warily, asking what happened. It was Cas and the baby, baby! Cas ever so gently heals Dean's broken arm.

“I've been so lost,” says Cas. “I'm not lost anymore. This child must be born with all of his power.” Ruh roh. “I have faith,” Cas says just so we know something's really wrong. The Winchesters need to trust him, Cas tells them right before he zaps them straight into sleepytown. (Dean’s soft “don’t” before Cas knocks him out just slays me.) Cas and Kelly head off to his truck (thanks for fixing it, Dean-o!) Kelly asks Cas what her baby showed him. “The future,” Cas replies vaguely.

The truck peels away, leaving the Winchesters passed out in the playground. Peace out, bitches.

Boris: Where to begin with this? People have been paralleling this season with season 6, and this episode was a non-stop, flashing lights recall of season 6. Cas once again goes behind the Winchesters for the greater good, to keep them out of trouble, to not bother them with his failings. I couldn’t help but see flashes of Godstiel at the end, right? He’s all powered up, and completely brainwashed for a cause. I would think meeting God would jade you a little, Cas, but I guess hopped up on nephilim mojo will change a guy. Cas is still in one more episode, but I feel like we’re going to be left with serious doubt about the state of Team Free Will by the time May 18th rolls around. Dean and Sam (especially Dean) have made it very clear that Cas belongs with them. I think that Cas is confused about what it means to be an equal with the Winchesters --his whole existence has been to lead or serve or follow orders. He keeps fighting against that free will that comes natural to him. He feels the need to serve and protect the brothers, at great cost to everyone all the time! But once he learns that a true partnership is a give and take, maybe then he’ll give up this constant cycle of misguided actions. CAS!!

WWQD? What Would Quotes Do?

Where the hell have you been and why have you ignored our phone calls?

It's a gift. You keep those.

I needed to come back here with a win for you.

Yes, dumbass, we.

I'll be there right by his side to nurture him, love him, help him to kill everything. You know, like a mother should.

Lucifer – he's just breaking toys.

You're not our babysitter, Cas.

There are kinks, yes.

#spn meta #spn recap #spn 12x19 #the future #castiel #cas #dean winchester #sam winchester #dagon #kelly kline #lucifer #supernatural season 12 #kelvin

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